There are days when I wish there was a return/exchange lane for my children. Sort of like Costco's no-questions-asked return policy.

It sure feels good to get things off your chest. What feels even better? Not having to apologize or make an excuse for any of it.

Laying here tonight I wonder why motherhood no longer seems to have the same luster it did when I first gave birth, why I feel like a shadow tending to someone else's footsteps. Where did the allure go? I think it's must be with all of the socks that have gone missing in the dryer.

Only my kids have heard that bellow. Only they know the volume my voice can reach when I call upon every last ounce of me to carry out anger. When I've reached my limit and I want to be damned sure that everyone in earshot knows it, my children are the only ones around.

Motherhood is profound and amazing and life-changing. It's also really hard. And we knew that going in.

I secretly want to be beautiful and capable in their eyes, loving and gentle and brave. Perfect. The good queen from a fairytale -- when in reality I am sarcastic, impatient, fearful, weak. Not the evil queen, exactly, but flawed and unlovely and all too human.